Under My Skin
by D-Hadevir
Summary: A Warlord Prince can't deny his true nature forever. But is Daemon's family ready to deal with him when he goes into rut for the first time since he arrived in Kaeleer? Warning for mature content.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters, world or concepts used here; all characters, world and concepts belong to Anne Bishop.

**Author's Note: **I had this plot bunny poking me for quite some time now, and finally dared to write/upload it.

Feedback, both to praise and criticize, warms my heart, so let me know what you think of this! It's the only way I can improve my writing. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

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><p><strong>Under My Skin<strong>

**Chapter 1**

The sun was setting behind the trees; leaves swaying in the soft breeze. It was a typical Spring late afternoon. The streets of Tajrana, Nharkhava's capital, were bustling with life. People filled the sidewalks: merchants closing their shops, young couples walking in the park, children enjoying the last moments of the day before being called for dinner. Everyone seemed content and relaxed.

Everyone, except the Blood crossing Daemon's path, only to quickly step aside, trying to stay out of his way. Out of his sight, if possible.

But Daemon wasn't seeing anyone either way. He glided through the street, hands in his trouser pockets, a furious, predatory look in his eyes. The air cooled around him, heavy with the scent of repressed violence. The breeze disheveled his black hair; the unbuttoned collar of the white silk shirt exposed a triangle of golden-brown skin, as well as the Red Jewel hanging from a gold chain.

He had been in Nharkhava for over a week now, stuck in boring, endless meetings with Queens and ambassadors of various Territories. Nine exhausting days without Jaenelle, who had stayed in the Hall with the flu. He hadn't gone this long without seeing her since he'd left for Hayll, at her request. When he returned, he'd been months not knowing where she was, or if she'd ever come back to him.

Those memories had taken their toll, wearing out his control. But he was the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan; he had duties to fulfill towards the people he ruled, as Jaenelle had pointed out - repeatedly.

He hadn't wanted to come without her, hadn't wanted to leave her while she wasn't feeling well. But after a lot of persuasion and several bribes he wouldn't let her forget about, she had convinced him to come to Nharkhava, leaving Lucivar and Marian with her at the Hall. Besides, this would be a short trip, a couple of days at most. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

A snarl escaped through his clenched teeth. The young messenger walking by dropped the packages he was carrying and stepped back, pale and terrified. Daemon swiftly circled the mess at his feet without slowing down or looking back. Any other day, he would've stopped to help the boy. Right now, if he so much as looked at him, he'd feel the urge to hurt him.

He hadn't planned to stay in Nharkhava for so long. His temper was becoming edgy and dangerous. He missed her!

More than that, he desperately needed to be with her. Only Jaenelle could help him regain control of his temper. He'd walked on the knife's edge the last couple days, often close to the killing edge, but fighting to keep his temper tightly leashed.

Between Little Terreille ambassadors and the females they had brought with them, it was surprising he'd managed to leave them in one piece and breathing. He'd been so close to tearing apart those two prissy bitches who thought they were above any rules. After realizing he would be attending those meetings alone, they started stalking him, eager to get such a powerful Warlord Prince in their beds. Knowing he was married should've been enough for them to keep their distance, but apparently those two didn't owe much to intelligence. They also had no idea who they were dealing with.

To be fair, they had done nothing he couldn't handle elegantly and discreetly. But he was too pissed off to be fair. The giggling, the arrogant and dubious remarks brought back memories he wanted to bury. He had endured too much of that in Terreille.

Rage washed through him once more, demanding all of his self-control to keep his temper leashed. He wasn't a pleasure slave anymore. He was the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. He had rights, but also responsibilities. Here, he had Protocol and his honor. He had a choice.

Besides, he was a guest in this Territory. Kalush ruled here, and Aaron was the Warlord Prince of Tajrana. He truly appreciated the life he was building in Kaeleer, and he didn't want to destroy the friendship and trust he was slowly rebuilding with Jaenelle's friends. Not for someone he'd probably never meet again, someone who meant nothing to him. But he knew it wouldn't take much to snap the leash right now.

Thankfully, he could finally return to the Hall. His thoughts turned to Jaenelle and all his body trembled in anticipation. He closed his eyes and grabbed the iron bars, leaning his forehead against the cold metal, trying to control his breathing and his feelings.

_Iron bars?_ He opened his eyes and looked around, finding himself in front of the gate leading to the garden in front of Kalush and Aaron's mansion.

He hadn't realized where he was going, but it didn't matter. He'd pay them a quick visit to say goodbye and catch the Black Wind back home - back to Jaenelle's arms. The rush running through his veins made him shudder. His fingers tightened around the iron bars until his knuckles turned white.

_You miss her, old son, that's all_, he told himself. Then he looked down and found himself empty-handed. Two small piles of metal powder had formed on the ground, where iron bars had stood just seconds ago.

Dusting off his hands, Daemon brushed a finger across the wedding band on his left hand, seeking the comfort it offered, and walked onto the property.

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><p>Daemon returned to a dark, quiet Hall. It was late in the night and everyone had retired already. Just as well. There was only one person he wanted to see right now.<p>

He recognized the dark psychic scent he loved the moment he walked inside. He took a deep breath, instinct and temper sharpening and focusing entirely on a single thought: Jaenelle. The rush he'd felt before changed to hot desire, bringing the predator Warlord Prince to the surface.

Taking off his topcoat, Daemon vanished it, unbuttoned another button of the white silk shirt and glided through the empty corridors towards the suite he shared with Jaenelle.

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><p>Lucivar woke up suddenly, agitated. An Eyrien war blade was in his hand before he was even fully awake. He narrowed his eyes, silent and alert, trying to find the danger in the dark. Something was scraping at his nerves.<p>

A wave of cold rage and hot desire washed through the Hall, directed at the family wing. Lucivar tensed and immediately thought of Jaenelle. Then he realized its source was male… and all too familiar.

He sat up on the bed, fully awake now. What had happened for Daemon to return in that state of mind? They weren't even expecting him tonigh- "Hell's fire, Mother Night and may the Darkness be merciful!"

Restless and worried, he jumped out of the bed and started pacing. He vanished the war blade, which would only piss off an already furious and lethal Warlord Prince. He recognized that particular blend of feelings.

Daemon was in rut.

Old memories arose, swimming too close to the surface. Memories from Terreille, from when he'd been close enough to see the devastation and the massacre the Sadist had left behind him during the rut, but far enough to survive. He looked at Marian, still asleep in the bed. And he thought of Daemonar, sleeping in the adjoining room.

Other memories surfaced. Memories he fiercely tried to forget, because they had almost destroyed his relationship with his brother. Lucivar closed his eyes, as if that could stop the images of that camp in Hayll from filling his mind.

Returning to the bed, he reached out for Marian. She looked startled for a moment, but quickly understood what was happening. Worry filled her golden eyes when she looked at the door leading to Daemonar's bedroom.

"Mother Night, Lucivar…" she whispered.

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><p>Daemon stopped at the door to Jaenelle's suite. His lips curled in a silent snarl when he felt the Ebon-Gray lock Jaenelle had put on the door - a lock that only the Queen's triangle had the power to break.<p>

He could almost hear the Sadist telling him she might be trying to keep him out. Which made no sense, since that lock couldn't keep him out of that room. Besides, he'd been the one to ask her to do it, while he was away. So why was that lock making him so angry now?

His temper was dangerous, so dangerous. Instinct threatened to obliterate his self-control. Part of him realized something wasn't right. Tension tightened his muscles, his hands opened and closed anxiously. And he wanted… Mother Night, how he wanted! What was wrong with him?

Whatever it was, it was useless to stay there. Only Jaenelle could help him regain his emotional balance. Daemon took in a deep breath, letting the air out with a hiss between his clenched teeth. Opening the door, he walked into the room and locked it with the Black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Daemon quickly crossed the sitting room into the bedroom where Jaenelle was sleeping. Contradicting the urgency he felt, he leaned against the wall.

Now that he was back with her, perhaps he could settle down before she woke up and noticed him. He hadn't told her he'd return tonight, hoping to surprise her. Considering his current state, he'd probably just worry her.

He studied his sleeping wife. The only light in the room came from the hearth, which seemed to cast flames on her short blond hair. His eyes traced the delicate, exotic face and the shape of her lips. He licked his own in anticipation. One of her hands rested on a book she'd been reading. A small pile of notes was scattered on the bedside table. The notes he'd sent her in the last few days.

Moving swiftly, Daemon stepped away from the wall and slipped his hands into his pockets. His eyes travelled down her body. The covers were tangled around her feet. The black silk nightgown shaped her body and exposed slender thighs.

Hypnotized, Daemon watched the playful dance of the flames throwing light and shadows on her fair skin. He forgot how to breathe. That strange fever took over his mind and body. The Warlord Prince broke the leash and studied his prey. His lips curved into a smile. Taking another step forward, he used a phantom touch, light as a feather, to play with her.

Phantom fingers trailed up her legs, sending shivers across her skin.

Jaenelle stirred, turned and sighed. "Daemon…"

The longing in that word made the blood sizzle in his veins. He wanted to have her, had to feel her, needed to lose himself in her until….

His surroundings faded. Something primal and savage eclipsed all rational thought. In that mist of rage and lust, only Jaenelle stayed in focus.

_Rut._

That word hit him like one of Lucivar's practice sticks. The shock stunned him long enough to make him hesitate.

He'd tried to convince himself he'd been feeling edgy simply because he missed her. He hadn't recognized the symptoms because he'd never felt them quite this way. The few times he'd been in the rut, he'd channeled all that need through pure, cold rage, and he didn't stop until he became physically and emotionally drained.

But that wasn't what he felt now. That hunger, the wild desire that made his body ache, wasn't to destroy. He wanted to possess.

He closed his hands into fists, desperately trying to think, to steady himself. He'd kept his sexuality firmly chained for centuries; he'd never allowed himself any kind of reaction he didn't want to show. He had never let instinct take over him, unless the goal was destruction. How could he have let this happen now?

He had to get out of here! It made him sick just thinking about coming out of the rut to witness only bloodshed and destruction, to realize he'd destroyed everything he'd built in Kaeleer. He'd lose his life, his family. And Jaenelle…

His body shook violently as his attention shifted back to her. Desire, hunger, and anguish clashed inside him. Instinct and conscience fought each other, paralyzing him. He'd die if he hurt her. But he couldn't move away, couldn't take his eyes off of her.

Before he could move, Jaenelle woke up, muttering something incomprehensible. Propped on one elbow, she rubbed her eyes and looked around, confused. Then she saw him, standing in the middle of the room.

"Daemon!" she gasped. With a wide grin, she jumped out of the bed and ran to him.

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><p>Lucivar closed his eyes for a moment. He felt so useless; fury began to bubble in his gut. He fed off of it to decide what to do.<p>

"Marian, take Daemonar and leave now. Go to the Keep and tell Saetan to keep his ass in there! The last thing we need is another male pricking Daemon's temper."

Marian's eyebrows rose. "_Another_ male? What do you think you're going to do? He wears the Black, and right now, he couldn't care less that you're his brother. Come with us, Lucivar! You can't stay here."

Lucivar shook his head and stood up. "First, I have check on Cat. I can't leave her alone. Not with Daemon like this."

He called in his leather pants and quickly got dressed. Then, he called in the large leather belt that held his weapons. He studied it for a second, frowned and vanished it again, swearing under his breath. He didn't like walking into a battlefield empty-handed, but weapons would only piss Daemon off even more. And he didn't want to fight with his brother if he could avoid it.

Marian was still sitting on the bed, looking at him in disbelief.

"Get out of here, now!" Lucivar growled. "Please, Marian. Before it's too late."

He tried to sound firm and commanding, but he got the feeling she only saw plea in his eyes. Exasperation and worry slowly took over the disbelief she'd felt.

"Lucivar… Don't go. Do you really think you can take Jaenelle out of there? She won't come with you. You'll only make things worse. Daemon loves her, he'd never hurt her!"

Lucivar knelt in front of her on the bed and held her hands in his, needing the comfort of her touch.

"Yes, Daemon loves her. But Marian, you know the Sadist," he said, struggling to keep the memories from that Hayllian camp at bay. "Daemon didn't go into rut often, but when it did happen, the Sadist took over. The Sadist in his cruelest temper!"

Marian paled. "He wouldn't hurt her…" she repeated weakly, looking unsure. "Maybe he gives her a chance to leave, before…" Her voice trailed off when she saw his face.

"Did you leave when I gave you that chance?" Lucivar snapped.

She paled even more, but insisted. "I still think you shouldn't interfere. They're adults and they're married. It's none of your business." She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes. "But I know you won't settle until you make sure your sister is alright."

She was right, he knew that. But he also knew what would happen to Daemon if he hurt Jaenelle. If his brother wasn't yet completely lost in the rut, maybe he could talk to Jaenelle, talk her into leaving the Hall. Maybe it wasn't too late.

"Marian, I have to go. For Daemon's sake, as well."

She raised her hands, in a clear sign she wouldn't argue anymore. Pushing away the covers, she got out of bed and turned to face him.

"Do what you have to do. I only ask you not to provoke him unnecessarily. Be careful, Lucivar."

Lucivar tried to smile. "I promise I won't let you raise Daemonar all by yourself."

Marian narrowed her eyes and gave him a hint of a wicked smile. "You do realize Daemon won't be the only one you will piss off when you interrupt them, don't you?"

Not giving him time to answer, Marian left the room. Lucivar found himself smiling at the thought. Yes, Jaenelle wouldn't be happy at all, but that didn't worry him. Quite the opposite, he sincerely hoped his sister would be able to yell at him after it was all over.

As soon as Marian returned with Daemonar, who expressed his annoyance at being taken out of bed loudly enough to wake up the entire Hall, Lucivar walked them out of the Hall. When he saw the Coach finally disappearing to the Keep, he hoped it wouldn't be the last time saw them.

He couldn't deny the Sadist scared the shit out of him, but Hell's fire, he wouldn't flee from that dance!

Back in the Hall, he called out for Beale, asked him to take everyone out of the Hall, as soon and quietly as possible. Then, he studied his options.

He could try to go to Jaenelle's suite, but Daemon would sense his presence before he could get close enough to do anything. He could try to talk to her in a psychic thread and find out if she needed help; but if Daemon caught the link, he might turn against her.

No, he couldn't even think about that!

There was no other way. He'd have to go there.

Not even remotely as determined as he tried to look, Lucivar activated the Ebony shield in his Ring of Honor. Then, he overlapped it with several Red and Ebon-Gray shields. They wouldn't be much of a defense against Daemon, who wore a darker Jewel and was recognized by the Ring of Honor. But he never walked into a battlefield without shielding himself first.

Making sure he kept his weapons at the distance of a thought, he took a deep breath, swallowed the fear and walked into the battlefield.

"Alright, Bastard. Let's dance, you and me…"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Apologies for the delay, it's been an odd and hectic week. As always, criticism would be very welcome, so I know how you feel about this story. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

And a huge thank you to my proofreader, I've owed this thank you to him forever.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Jaenelle hadn't reached him yet when Daemon shuddered, closed his eyes and took half a step back.

She stopped, frowning. "Daemon? What's wrong?"

He winced, keeping his eyes firmly shut. Jaenelle hesitated, worried and now fully awake. Something wasn't right.

Mixed undercurrents of violence and desire filled the room. They had woken her up and kept scraping her nerves. Daemon's hands were curled into fists. The disheveled hair and the partially unbuttoned white shirt glued to his slick skin made it look like he'd come running all the way back from Nharkhava. His breathing was ragged; he was shaking due to a visible tension in his muscles and the effort to stay away from her.

Jaenelle had seen these symptoms before. Lucivar had come to her, in the same condition, begging her to control him, to leash all that _need_. But Lucivar didn't want her for sex. She'd only had to deal with the violent side of the Ebon-Gray Warlord Prince. And she had been far more powerful than him, back then.

It was different with Daemon. He'd been on the edge for the last couple days, anxious to return. That much had been obvious in his notes. She'd wanted to meet him in Nharkhava after her recovery from the flu, but he'd said he'd be back soon. Instead, he'd been held back in one meeting after another as the days trickled by.

She knew all too well the temper the Queens and ambassadors in Nharkhava had to deal with, being around Daemon then. She could also imagine the mood he would be in when he returned. But she hadn't expected the rut, even though she'd asked herself before why it hadn't happened yet.

Jaenelle took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and organize her thoughts. All she had to do was to stay calm and passive.

Daemon looked up at her with an unsettling intensity. Jaenelle could see the storm gathering inside behind those golden eyes. She had to bite her tongue to avoid swearing out loud. It shouldn't be that hard to stay calm and passive, in theory. But being on the receiving end of all that attention from Daemon, who was completely focused on her slightest movement, ready to jump on her, made that task extremely complicated.

She wasn't stronger than him anymore. She knew Daemon wouldn't hurt her, but what she saw deep in his eyes - that _something_, struggling to be released - made her nervous. Even though she'd never been the target of the Sadist's temper, she was aware of what he was capable of doing when pressured. She knew the stories and she knew him, so she had a somewhat accurate idea of what the Sadist would be like in bed.

And that was, after all, what made Jaenelle nervous - and spiked Witch's curiosity.

She raised her hand slowly, in a firm, calculated gesture.

"Daemon…" she started.

"Get out!" Daemon snarled with bared teeth. "You don't want to dance with the Sadist."

Her hand stopped halfway. She heard something close to despair in his voice. Daemon's body shook more violently now, as he fought his instincts, losing ground to them by the second. Rage, lust and anguish filled both his eyes and the room. He was still trying to resist it, and she understood why.

It wasn't hard to guess how he'd dealt with the rut in Terreille. He hadn't wanted a female then. At least, not one who existed yet. A Black jeweled Warlord Prince channeling all that power to rage, to violence and destruction….

A shiver ran down her spine, but she managed to stay still and look calm and steady. No wonder he feared what he might do this time. He couldn't predict his own behavior now that the circumstances had changed, and that frightened him. He'd rather go through it by himself, no matter the consequences.

That thought annoyed her, pricked her temper. She wouldn't let him go through that alone, once more. She couldn't stand the thought of what he might do to himself if she left now.

"I'm not going anywhere." Her heart clogged her throat as she rested a hand on his face.

The moment she touched him, Daemon fixed his eyes on hers. The ice in them shattered, turned to fire. He breathed out heavily; the tension disappeared, and he settled. He stopped shaking, stopped trying to fight his own body. A predator now stood in front of her.

He moved fast. Before she had time to blink, he was holding her so tightly she thought she'd end up with a pair of broken ribs. She didn't resist, didn't move - she could barely breathe. Daemon nuzzled her neck, closed his teeth on her skin.

Suddenly, without warning, Jaenelle felt a psychic probe spreading through the bedroom, then outward. She felt more than heard the deep snarl that made Daemon's chest vibrate, filling the room, rippling through the walls. And she felt the tension in him changing again.

He eased back enough to look at her. There was mostly cold rage in his eyes, now. Jaenelle felt exposed under that piercing gaze, but simply gazed back, blankly.

No need to probe. She knew exactly what had caught his attention.

Lucivar was at the Hall, with Marian and Daemonar. She felt the urge to throttle her brother. She wanted to tell him - yell at him seemed like a better idea - to stay the hell away from her suite, to take everyone else out of the Hall. But she didn't dare move. Daemon was still studying her. He would notice a psychic thread and destroy that stubborn Eyrien even faster than he intended to, right now.

For a moment, she hoped Lucivar had some common sense and didn't ignore Daemon's warning. But who was she trying to fool? Lucivar _would _ignore the warning; he would barge in there, fully knowing he didn't stand a chance. And Daemon would attack, not recognizing his brother, only his rival.

One moment passed. Another.

The air in the room cooled drastically. Daemon stepped back, his hands tightly wrapped around her arms. The Black jewel in his chest burned more intensely for a second.

Her heart sank. She had to do something, fast. She tried to say something, but his cold look silenced her. Daemon was riding the killing edge.

"Don't move," the Sadist crooned. His lips curved into a cold, cruel smile. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he turned and walked to the door in a lazy, taunting stride.

_Hell's fire, Mother Night and may the Darkness be merciful! _When she finally got her legs to obey, she ran after Daemon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The dark power rippled through the walls, through Lucivar's body, scrutinizing him; the crushing rage chilled him to the bone. Then, as quickly as it had started, it was gone. He understood the warning in the obvious show of temper and power, as well as the danger in the abrupt retreat. Still, he kept moving forward, his eyes fixed on the door leading to Jaenelle's suite of rooms.

It happened suddenly, unexpectedly. One moment he was walking down the dark corridor, the next he was being violently slammed against the wall. The shields around him shattered when the Black thrust of power hit him. Lucivar's wings were smashed between his body and the wall. The pain stunned him for a second. The Ebony shield lingered for a moment, long enough to prevent the bones from breaking immediately, but it disappeared when it recognized Daemon's power. A low, vicious growl filled the corridor, amplified with Craft.

Long, slender fingers closed around his throat, tightening the hold until he could barely draw in any air. He raised his hands to his neck and tried to push them away. His fingernails scratched his skin hopelessly, unable to touch the phantom fingers that choked him, lifting him slightly from the floor and keeping him painfully pinned against the wall. He called in his war blade, but another pair of phantom hands held his wrists, holding them at his sides.

Lucivar tried to fight back, but he couldn't move; he couldn't even see or touch his opponent.

He didn't have time to feel angry for being caught in that situation - ridiculous for an experienced warrior like him - because he was distracted by the third set of phantom fingers that whispered down his stomach. He shivered, stopped struggling. It wasn't a shiver of pleasure, but one of fear. That playful touch seemed to promise all kinds of delights, but he knew its creator's purpose all too well.

He swallowed hard, which made the chokehold even more painful. He tried to look at Jaenelle's door, hoping for a sound, a movement, anything that would tell him Jaenelle was alright. Eventually, the door opened and Daemon stepped out of the suite. The door closed silently behind him. A thin layer of ice immediately covered the walls. His back muscles tensed as the ice reached him.

Daemon slowly walked into his range of vision. Lucivar almost wished he hadn't. The Sadist was truly pissed off by the intrusion. He leaned against the opposite wall, took one hand out of his pocket and examined his long black tinted nails. He looked like he was having a pleasant conversation on a quiet afternoon, not choking his own brother in an empty corridor.

Lucivar looked at Daemon's frozen eyes. "Bastard," he greeted, trying to sound confident, in spite of the choked voice.

"What do you think you're doing? She's not going anywhere with you."

The words were said in a calm, lazy tone, but there was no doubt of the venom in them. Or the threat they held. He wouldn't get anywhere near Jaenelle and stay among the living. Lucivar kept his eyes on his brother's, not showing fear or challenging his dominance.

"Daemon, let me talk to her. I only want to-"

… Something dark and lethal seemed to move closer, surrounding him, crawling on his skin, chilling him to the bone.

Daemon's smile was malevolent. Lucivar tried to find any hint of recognition or mercy in those icy yellow eyes, but Daemon was far past that point already. He was simply playing with his prey for a little while before tearing it to pieces.

The Sadist sighed. "This is becoming tedious." Pulling away from the wall, he took a step closer. "What were you thinking coming here? Are you tired of living? I can easily take care of that."

The hand around Lucivar's throat tightened its grip, tightened and tightened until Lucivar started struggling again, trying to catch some air. He tried to use Craft to set his hands free, but the Black power absorbed it easily. Daemon would sooner break his wrists than let him move an inch.

"Daemon," called Jaenelle's firm, commanding voice.

Both men looked in its direction. Lucivar's resistance was draining fast, but his heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he saw her. Jaenelle was at the door, wearing a mid-thigh black nightgown. She glanced at Lucivar, a quick and assessing look. In a swift, feline motion, Daemon shifted, blocking both Jaenelle's way out of the room and Lucivar's sight of her.

"I told you not to move. You're not going near him. Go to the bedroom," he snarled.

Jaenelle just looked at him. He couldn't hear her reply, but whatever she said got Daemon taking a predatory step towards her.

Lucivar tried to move, hoping to turn Daemon's attention back to him; tried to look at Jaenelle and see if she was hurt or scared.

Daemon turned his head slightly to Lucivar. The phantom hand in his throat relieved the pressure momentarily, only to throw him harder against the wall, the fingernails piercing into his skin.

Lucivar dropped the war blade he'd uselessly clung to. The pain in his wings and the lack of oxygen were making Lucivar angry and desperate, so he started struggling harder with his invisible opponent. Blood roared in his ears and tears stung his eyes. He tried to release his hands, fight back somehow. He opened his mouth trying to draw in some air. He needed to breathe!

Daemon watched him for a moment, undisturbed, before turning his attention back to Jaenelle. She looked at Daemon, only; spoke only to him.

"Prince Yaslana is leaving. Every resident is going to leave the Hall immediately. They won't approach us until you give different orders, Prince," she said in the tone of voice Daemon never questioned.

The Queen's tone of voice; a direct command from Witch. Daemon always responded to that voice. Lucivar held on to centuries of training and self control to stop squirming, even though his whole body screamed in protest. Jaenelle had chosen to stay with Daemon and had informed them of that decision. He didn't like it, but this was his only chance of leaving that place in one piece. If Daemon didn't ease back now…

For a terribly long second, nothing happened. Lucivar's senses were starting to shut down and his conscience was drifting away. He wondered how much longer it would still take for him to black out. That was if Daemon let him stop feeling that easily.

Then, the chokehold on his throat loosened just enough to allow him to plant his feet fully on the floor and breathe, but still keeping him pinned against the freezing wall. It took Lucivar a second longer to get his lungs to work again and take a deep breath, which made him feel like his throat was on fire.

Daemon looked at Jaenelle, raising an eyebrow. She hesitated, but pressed her lips together and returned to her suite. Only then Daemon came closer to Lucivar. There was no hint of emotion in the eyes that locked on his. Nothing. Only golden ice.

"The Queen commands," the Sadist said in a deadly croon. "Go away. Go far, far away. The next one coming here won't be as lucky." Something wild flashed in his eyes. "Now."

He moved to one side, blocking the way to Jaenelle's suite, and all the phantom hands disappeared. Lucivar staggered, but braced his hands against the wall and managed to keep standing up. Daemon watched him, as if he was just waiting for a reason to change his mind about letting him go.

Lucivar pulled away from the wall slowly, managing to stay on his feet due to sheer stubbornness. "I'll pass along the order." He barely recognized his own raw voice. "Take care, Bastard."

He kept his fists clenched to resist the urge to rub his throat and wrists; kept his wings tightly closed, trying not to think how badly they were damaged. Taking one last quick glance at Jaenelle's door, he denied all his training and instincts and turned his back on his opponent, walking away.

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><p>Jaenelle returned to her suite unwillingly. Lucivar didn't seem badly hurt, but she hadn't had a chance to take a good look at him. She waited in her sitting room, close to the door, worried and fighting the urge to go back outside. She couldn't do more than she had done already. She'd used the only leash she had to hold Daemon back, but she wasn't powerful enough to stop him, if he really wanted to hurt his brother.<p>

Lucivar's appearance could've ended very badly. She would have a _little chat _with him later about it. It was so typical of that stubborn Eyrien to run straight into the wolf's mouth!

Since those would be her last few moments alone, Jaenelle closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to settle her own feelings and prepare for what was coming. After all, the _dance_, as Daemon had called it, had just begun.

She was thinking about turning on the lights when Daemon returned and closed the door behind him. Black shields surrounded the suite, trapping her inside with him. The only source of light in the room was the moonlight coming in through the glass doors and windows that had the curtains pulled aside.

Daemon stopped in front of her, his face partially hidden in the shadows. His psychic scent was filled with rage and desire. He didn't say a word, didn't touch her; just looked at her, his breathing heavy and his body hot and tense. It was as if he was waiting to see what she would do. She pictured a cat playing with the mouse, before eating it. She'd played "stalk and pounce" with the Arcerian cats too many times to feel comfortable with that thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning:** This chapter contains mature content! The story is rated M since the beginning, but fair warning is never too much.

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Once again heavily shielded, Lucivar made his way through the corridors until he reached Daemon's study. Each step he took made the muscles in his back scream in protest. He kept his wings as still as he could, but his stomach turned at the thought of the damage he could've already done.

He served himself a generous glass of brandy to settle his nerves before examining the injuries. The liquid burned its way down his sore throat, making him gasp in pain. It felt like swallowing shards of glass.

When the burning subsided, he tested his wings, probing for lesions, moving them with extreme care. He almost cried in relief when he realized most of the pain came from his back muscles, due to the pressure he'd put on them in an attempt to spare his wings. He would barely be able to walk for the next couple of days, but he hadn't damaged his wings beyond repair. Folding them carefully one last time, he examined his throat and wrists with a much lighter heart.

No broken bones, although the bruises would be impressive. All things considered, he'd be sore and achy as hell for a couple of days, but considering the kind of damage Daemon could do to a man without even touching him, he considered himself lucky.

Something had stopped the Sadist from truly hurting him. Knowing that helped him swallow his doubts and frustration. He had to respect Jaenelle's decision; had to trust that the leash she held was strong enough to placate the Sadist; and he had to hope Daemon wouldn't snap that leash.

Setting down the brandy he'd rather not finish, Lucivar left the Hall, caught the Ebon-Gray Wind and rode to the Keep, eager for the next time Daemon would join him in a morning practice. Then, he'd have his revenge for those bruises.

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><p>Daemon stood at arm's length, simply looking at her.<p>

Unnerved by his stillness, Jaenelle tried to reach out, but he came at her then, fast and hard. Pinning her wrists behind her back, his hand tightened on them hard enough to make her wince in pain. Daemon wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

"Mine."

That snarl, filled with hunger and defiance, incited Witch; the heat pouring off of his body incited her own need. When he pulled her closer and she felt him hard, her own body awakened, responded to his. And when Daemon clamped his teeth on her neck, she forgot she intended to stay calm and passive and started to squirm, trying to free her hands. She needed his touch, wanted to feel his hot skin under her hands. She wanted to…

He raised his head, a dangerous look in his eyes. His hand squeezed her wrists harder in a silent warning. She hissed in a breath, swallowing the cry of pain, and stopped squirming.

The Sadist smiled. His mouth hovered a breath away from hers. "Mine," he whispered, sending a delighted shiver down Witch's spine.

Her heart pounded against her chest. "Always," she replied, completely lost in the untamed darkness in those golden eyes.

A desperate urgency shattered the illusive calmness when he heard that. He backed her up against the wall, pressed his body against hers and vanished her nightgown. Jaenelle gasped, startled by the contrast between the cold wall on her back and the heat of his body.

Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, she tried to suggest going to the bedroom, but Daemon locked his mouth on hers and she forgot what she wanted to say.

His kiss was so hungry and demanding it was almost violent. It sent her close to the edge and made her ache for more. But he was still pinning her wrists, not allowing her any movement, any kind of release.

Before she could help it, instinct overcame the caution. Witch snarled softly. Daemon was defying her true nature, teasing Witch, daring her to come out and play.

"Daemon," she called, in a tone that was partly warning, partly plead.

Daemon vanished his own clothes. She moaned when skin finally touched skin, her breasts pressed against his chest. She tried to release her hands again.

This time Daemon let go of her wrists, allowing her to touch him. He cupped her buttocks and pricked her skin with his fingernails in a silent command. Jaenelle wrapped her arms around his neck and gave herself to him without hesitation.

His eyes held hers, looking deep into her soul, as he shifted her and slowly slid inside her. Her mind became hazy and her surroundings faded: the dark room, the cold wall on her back, as well as the tension she'd felt earlier. Only Daemon remained clear: the feel of him, his beautiful face and his deep, soft chuckle, a warm and sensuous sound that made her blood sing.

When he started moving, she stopped thinking altogether.

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><p>When her mind cleared enough, Jaenelle realized they had slid down to the floor. Daemon sat on his knees and she straddled him, breathless and lazy, delicious shivers still coursing through her body. Daemon's face was buried in her neck and his arms were wrapped around her waist, keeping her close. Each breath she took made her back brush against the wall, still cold from his anger, intensifying the shivers.<p>

She could only make out his silhouette, since they were now completely hidden in shadows. But she could feel his lips and his warm breath on her neck and his hands lazily stroking her lower back; could feel him as tense and hard as before, his skin slick and sensitive under her hands, as well as the trails her fingernails had left marked on his shoulders.

Daemon was the only source of heat in the room and she was starting to feel the bite of the chilly night, so she slipped her arms around him and snuggled against him. His hands roamed slowly up her back. Jaenelle closed her eyes and let out a satisfied sigh.

He was back, that's all that mattered. The rest would fall back into place. She breathed in his scent, reveled in the familiar comfort of his arms. Sweet Darkness, how she'd missed him! Brushing her lips against his ear, she whispered, "Welcome home."

Daemon's hands stopped roaming. He raised his head to look at her. Even though his face was partly in the dark, his eyes held an unusual gleam.

He gave her a long, soft kiss, as if there was nothing else he wanted more than to simply hold her.

Eventually, he eased back again and raised them both from the floor. He didn't say a word, but the look on his face gave her butterflies. He scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom.

The butterflies went wild. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered exactly what it meant to stay with a male - _this male!_ - in the rut. She would spend the next three days in bed… _with Daemon…_

"Mother Night!" The whimper escaped her lips without her realizing it.

Daemon's smile told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. Feeling a little dizzy, she was thankful her knees weren't supporting her, or they would've buckled. When they reached the bed, she wondered if she'd die of exhaustion or pleasure.

Daemon laid her on the bed and gave her a persuasive kiss as he began to play with her body. Jaenelle closed her eyes and curled her fingers in his hair, realizing she wouldn't mind at all to die of pleasure in his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **My apologies for the delay. I wanted to have this updated before the weekend, but I had some connection issues. I plan to have this story finished and uploaded until the end of the week. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Daemon sat on the wooden seat in the garden with the statues representing the Blood male and female. He liked this little hideaway; its heavy, rich atmosphere; the peace it offered; the statues. He used to go there whenever he was upset, or needed to regain his emotional balance. It was a comforting and welcoming place.

But not this time. Shaking violently, face pressed against his hands, Daemon relived that nightmare over and over again.

_You don't want to dance with the Sadist. _Pinning Jaenelle's wrists… _Mine._ Pinning her against the wall; slamming Lucivar against the wall; Lucivar struggling to breathe;_ Bastard… _Fear and determination in his brother's golden eyes… and pain. _Are you tired of living? I can easily take care of that. _A pile of sawdust where a table used to be; cold, cold rage rushing through his veins, demanding release; Jaenelle, pale and frightened. _Mine! _Sapphire blue eyes, glazed with lust and pleasure. _Welcome home. _Jaenelle; Witch._ Mine. Always._

"What have I done?"

All he had were bits and pieces, disorganized, jumbled together differently every time he tried to remember. Pieces of memories that tormented him, gave him hope, made him panic. The fear fed off of his doubts like something alive crawling under his skin, tightening his chest until he could barely breathe.

As he went over those memories again, older memories rose: memories of Terreille; of the times the Sadist had taken over, turning to violence that need he wouldn't satisfy on a female; of the times he'd woken up to find only devastation and death around him.

He didn't know what he'd done this time. It made him ill to think he could've destroyed the most important thing in his life. To think he had hurt Jaenelle, forced her to be with him. She would never trust him again, would never want to be near him again.

When he woke up that morning, the rut had mostly worn off. Disoriented, mind and senses blurred by sleep, he had struggled to remember what had happened. The last thing he remembered clearly was entering the bedroom. After that, there was nothing but a handful of scattered memories veiled by a red haze of rage and desire.

Lying on the bed, face buried in the pillow, he had barely dared to breathe. He couldn't turn to her any more than he could move away. So he lay there, hoping to feel her move, to hear her steady breathing or her voice. Anything that would tell him she was alive.

After what seemed like an eternity, Daemon felt movement behind him. But the relief that washed through him quickly turned to sheer horror when heard the pained moan as she tried to shift position. Fear clogged his throat.

Slowly raising his head, Daemon turned to look at Jaenelle. No visible wounds. But the Sadist didn't need to leave visible wounds. His breath caught. He reached out, lightly touching her first inner barrier.

He found pain.

Deathly pale, Daemon pulled back, incapable of reaching out again. His stomach turned. Shuddering, he jerked out of bed and ran out of the bedroom. He wanted to run from himself, from the Sadist. He'd created him as a weapon, to defend himself, to stay whole for her, and now….

He roamed restlessly, unsure if he should feel relieved or anguished to find the corridors completely empty. Unsure of what it meant to not find the Ebon-Gray anywhere in the Hall.

Eventually, he found himself in the sunken garden. He glanced at the female face carved in stone and his legs buckled. Staggering to the furthest side of the garden, Daemon puked his guts out, since his stomach was as empty as he felt. Then, he shuffled to the wooden seat, desperately trying to regain some control.

He wanted her to show up on the steps, needed her to tell him everything was alright, that nothing had changed. But what if she came only to send him away? He couldn't stand the thought of finding only fear or rejection in her eyes. What if she couldn't come at all?

He'd give her time to decide what she wanted to do. If she didn't trust him anymore, she could get out, or call someone.

If she didn't forgive him… sweet Darkness, what would become of him?

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><p>Jaenelle woke up slowly. She took a deep breath and lazily let it out with a sigh, savoring the softness of silky sheets on bare skin and Daemon's scent, the mixed scents of them.<p>

The sunlight invaded the room and a soft breeze was fluttering in from the partially opened window. Fighting the sleep, she half opened one eye, only to squeeze it shut again and bury her head further into the pillow. The sun was so high in the sky, it must be around lunch time.

How could it be so late already? She lay very still, eyes closed, fighting her sleep-fogged brain as the events of the last three days slowly shifted back into place.

She was starving and exhausted. She raised her arms to hug her pillow, letting out a pained moan as sore muscles stiffened in protest. Then, she rotated her wrists. The dark purple bruises around them were starting to fade and she could move them without making them hurt again. Hell's Fire, drilling with Lucivar didn't make her as exhausted.

She sighed, a smile spreading across her lips. She hadn't died of pleasure, but sometimes it seemed like she'd come damn close. Especially when she'd danced with the Sadist; when his desperate need changed unexpectedly to ruthless teasing, taken to the extreme of bearable.

She realized more clearly now what had made so many women eager to have him in their beds to the point of ignoring the promise of pain in the golden eyes. The mix of sensuality and wild, barely restrained power was irresistible.

Moving carefully, she stretched, groaning loudly. The last three days had been intense in more ways than one. She hadn't gotten much rest, except for the moments Daemon seemed to be satisfied to simply hold her close to him. Even then, the rest hadn't been much. Not knowing exactly what to expect from him next, she hadn't dared let herself relax for too long. Not after the second time he'd left the room to get food, anyway.

She had wanted a shower badly, to relax for a few minutes, so she had snuck into the bathroom when Daemon left their suite to get food. But doing that without telling him first hadn't been a good idea, clearly. When he returned, sooner than she'd expected, and didn't find her, he was truly pissed off.

By the time Jaenelle had scrambled out of the bathroom, he had already turned the breakfast table into sawdust and was about to destroy the rest of the furniture. Her stomach had clenched when she saw both food and trays scattered around the bedroom floor. When Daemon turned on his heels and stormed towards her, furious, Jaenelle had to make an effort not to step back.

He stopped in front of her, eyeing her suspiciously, before looking around. After making sure she was alone and hadn't gone anywhere, he studied her from head to toe. She was still all wet, her hair dripping to the floor. His gaze narrowed and his smile made the bones on her legs turn to jelly. They ended up locked in the bathroom for hours.

Unfortunately, Daemon hadn't left the suite again. He'd called in the supplies he always carried, stored with Craft: several kinds of sandwiches, fruit and water.

Earlier that morning, three days after his return, Daemon had fallen into a deep sleep for the first time, keeping her tightly pressed against his chest. His eyes had been glazed still, but he was calmer, looking more like his usual self. After making sure he was sound asleep, she allowed herself to get the sleep her body demanded.

Jaenelle opened her eyes, suddenly wide awake.

Daemon hadn't moved at all. In fact, the bedroom was awfully quiet; it _felt _awfully empty. Hoping the silence meant he was still asleep, she turned her head to look at him.

He wasn't there. Intrigued, she half rose on the bed, propped on one elbow and looked around. He wasn't there, not even in the bathroom. The Black locks and shields had disappeared. And the bitter scent of fear still lingered in the room.

It only took her a moment to realize what had happened. The rut was really over, and Daemon had run away. Given his previous experiences, he had probably driven himself into a panic. He might even do something stupid, if he convinced himself he had hurt her somehow.

Without thinking, she tried to jump out of bed, but the stiff muscles refused to work properly, stopping her in mid-movement. Slowly, she managed to get out of the bed and up on her feet. She had to find him and make him see he had done nothing to her.

_Well, 'nothing' is a relative concept_, Jaenelle thought, a wicked dreamy grin curving her lips. She pushed that thought aside, focusing on the current problem. First, a hot shower. She wanted Daemon to see her fully awake and less weary.

She shuffled into the bathroom, thinking she'd give pretty much anything for a cup of coffee right now. As the hot water poured over her neck and back, releasing some of the tension in her muscles, she prepared for the last part of that dance. She had no idea how much he remembered of the last three days, or how he remembered it. But she hoped she could help him sort it all out.

Finally dressed and ready, and still grumpily thinking of the coffee she hadn't drunk, Jaenelle left her bedroom, to hunt down her tormented Warlord Prince. She knew exactly where to find him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Daemon felt her presence before he heard the footsteps. Even though he had hoped for it with all his heart, seeing Jaenelle come after him destroyed any illusion of self control he might still have. He braced his hands tightly against the edge of the wooden seat, trying to stop shaking. It took him a few seconds to remember how to breathe; it took a bit longer to be able to look up at her.

Jaenelle crossed the garden to meet him. When she walked by the statue of the male, she ran her fingers along the edge of the fountain in a light caress. Daemon felt sick relief at the sight of her, whole and seemingly well. When he met her eyes, he didn't find fear, but he did see worry. And when she got close enough, he noticed the stiffness in the way she moved, the dark shadows under her eyes. She looked drained.

His heart ached and all the fear and anguish he'd been fighting clogged his throat. The doubts shattered the thin layer of hope he had built around his heart. She wasn't as strong as she'd been before she sacrificed her body to purge the Blood. And now, because of him, she'd lost the physical strength it had taken her so long to recover.

When Jaenelle sat next to him, Daemon flinched and tightened his grip on the wooden seat, not daring to touch her.

"Daemon," she called softly, waiting until he looked back at her. "Everything is alright."

That was what he wanted to hear. Why couldn't he believe in her, then?

"It's not. You're hurt." His voice was hoarse and tense. The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "What about the others? Where is everyone? What have I done?"

"You didn't do anything. I'm not hurt. Everyone left the Hall when you returned."

Daemon hissed, fury swirling inside him again. "That's not true."

Jaenelle tensed, but didn't deny it.

He clung to the seat as if it was the only thing that could keep him steady. His temper was still too raw, intense feelings still swimming too close to the surface. He couldn't trust himself around her. And that one piece of memory haunting him…. Maybe everyone else had left, but his brother had stayed.

"Lucivar," he breathed. Looking up, he studied her, trying to find the answer in her eyes. "I remember Lucivar; we were in the corridor. I was- I felt so angry, I wanted to…. What have I done to _my brother_?"

Jaenelle huffed out a breath. "Oh, Lucivar…" She shook her head dismissively. "He's a stubborn nosey prick! When he realized what was happening, he wanted to make sure everything was alright."

Daemon's heart sunk in his chest. Of course Lucivar would try to take Jaenelle out of there, fully knowing what he would be facing. But she didn't sound worried or sad. Looking at her, he found the same mix of annoyance and resignation he usually saw on the coven witches when any of the darlings had to deal with his brother. It was such a familiar expression that Daemon almost smiled.

Jaenelle noticed the slight change in his mood and laid a hand on his white-knuckled fingers.

"Lucivar is fine, Daemon. I don't know what the hell he was thinking to go after you, but you let him go. He's probably a bit sore still, but he'll be fine," she guaranteed. Then, she muttered under her breath, "Though he might not be, after I have a _little talk _with him."

Daemon closed his eyes. _Thank the Darkness! _Part of the weight on his chest disappeared, letting him breathe more easily for the first time that day.

He held her hand, cautiously linking his fingers through hers, taking comfort from the touch. Brushing a thumb over her wedding ring, he studied the flashes of light the sun cast on the small sapphires. She was still wearing it, but that didn't mean she would forgive him.

He needed to know.

"I scared you. I hurt you… Don't deny it! I saw it in your eyes."

Daemon pushed her sleeves up gingerly, revealing the ugly bruises around her wrists. With shaky fingers, he touched the dark purple skin lightly, carefully. "I remember doing this…" he whispered. "I remember the table, and you- you looked so scared…"

Jaenelle moved one leg up and across the seat, straddling it to be face to face with him. Then, she pulled his chin up with one finger, making him look straight into her eyes.

"Daemon, do I look scared?" When he didn't answer, she sighed patiently. "You had left the suite to get food, so I snuck into the bathroom to take a shower, thinking I'd be back before you. But you returned so soon I wasn't in the bedroom yet, so you decided to release your temper on the furniture." She frowned, assuming an almost sulky expression. Then, she shrugged. "Admittedly, it wasn't one of the best ideas I've ever had. I should've told you, or waited until you returned. And, yes, the look in your eyes in that moment made me nervous. But you didn't hurt me."

"I shouldn't have come to the Hall. I should've realized sooner, gone elsewhere. When this happens, the Sadist…" Daemon hesitated. No need to explain what had been obvious.

He straddled the seat as well. He needed to ask and he needed to see the answer in her eyes, more than hear it.

"To think I forced you to stay with me, forced you in any other way, makes me ill. Will you be able to forgive me, one day?"

"Forgive you? I would've been pissed off if you had run, if you had gone through the rut on your own again! In fact, you asked me to leave. I stayed, by my choice."

Daemon blinked. He had hoped to hear that, but he hadn't expected the flash of irritation and temper in her eyes. _By my choice. _He shuddered as the tension seeped out of his body.

"You didn't force me to do anything I didn't want to. I wouldn't allow it," Jaenelle said, firmly. "I've told you once and I haven't changed my mind: I accept the Sadist as part of what you are. I accept having to dance with him. Even if it knocks the wind out of me sometimes, it doesn't intimidate me." She brushed his hair back and smiled. "Anyway, it was you most of the time, delicious and passionate as always."

Her words lit his desire once more. Not like the uncontrollable fever of the rut, but more like a quiet desire to simply be with her. He leaned forward and kissed her. Then, he raised her hands and lightly kissed her bruised wrists.

"So, you're really well…" He said hesitantly, more a confirmation than a question. "Are you sure you don't need a Healer? You sounded hurt, this morning."

Jaenelle raised an eyebrow, a wicked smile blossoming on her lips. "Well, it's been three days with you, after over a week's absence. You didn't let me have much rest. It takes a toll on the body."

"Oh!" Daemon pressed his lips together. It was best not to answer that.

Jaenelle huffed out a quiet laugh. Shaking her head, she turned around and leaned back against his chest. Daemon wrapped his arms around her and it felt like home again.

"I've missed you so much," he whispered in her ear.

Jaenelle wrapped her arms around his, but her stomach growled before she had time to answer. Only then did Daemon realize he was also starving.

"I have a suggestion."

"And what is it?" Jaenelle tipped her head a little, to look at him.

"Since we have the Hall all for ourselves, we could go exploring and find out what Mrs. Beale left in the cold box."

Jaenelle's eyes lit up. Her smile widened, became mischievous. "That's a great suggestion."

"Mmm. And then we could go back to the suite and take a hot bath, with lots of bubbles." Daemon kissed her neck. She closed her eyes. "Then we'll go back to bed. I'll give you a back rub," his fingers slowly drifted along her arms, up to her shoulders. She let out a content sigh. "Thorough…" he lowered his voice to a murmur as he stroke her shoulders and neck, "...and relaxing. What do you think?"

Jaenelle moaned softly. "I think it's a very tempting offer…"

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><p><strong>AN:** Thanks for the hits and reviews! I hope you had as much fun reading this story as I had writing it.


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